That Fateful Night
by shadr
Summary: She loved him, and he her. They went to great lengths to be together, but tragedy tore them apart. Will she return and overcome her past, or will it all be too much?
1. Chapter 1

He saw her standing there, the wind playing with her hair, lifting the silver strands and casting them in all directions. His heart leapt, threatening to burst out of his chest. He hadn't seen her in over three moons, and he'd been chasing her for twice that time. Tracking her everywhere she went, from Riften to Dawstar, Markarth to Winterhold. She was always one step ahead of him, always keeping him on his toes. He was well aware of the fact that she knew he was tailing her, and she seemed to take pleasure in teasing him; a strip of her clothing tied round a tree, a flower carefully placed next to the dying embers of a fire. And now, finally, he had found her. He knew it was because she wanted to be found; it was certainly not due to his own skill. His beastblood had helped him keep up with her, for even in her elf form she was much faster than him. Relentlessly pursuing her had led him to this, this inevitable moment that he had tried to mentally simulate for weeks. Here she was, stood before him, framed against the slowly melting sun, her flawless skin illuminated by its soft light. She was pale, but with an almost golden glow that made her look so alive. Her silver hair - for silver was the only true way to describe it - fell like molten silk to the small of her back in soft waves. One lock, as usual, was tucked behind her elegantly pointed ear. She was, in every way, beautiful. Light flowed from the tips of her fingers, the ends of her hair. This radiance made everything she touched seem beautiful too. Her wonderful aura ignited something in him that he couldn't deny, couldn't evade. It made him want to be with her, want to protect her, even if she didn't need or want him to.

Taking a step towards her, he could see that her clear amber eyes were fixed on his blue. He couldn't help but smile, the corners of his mouth turning up in only the way that she could make them. She smoothed his roughened edges, made him whole. He was but fifteen feet from her, and the breeze carried her scent up towards him. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, breathing in her essence, filling his lungs with her. He opened his eyes; she was gone from her previous position. A small cough from behind made him whirl around, hand closing around the hilt of his sword. There she was, a mere arms-length away, within his reach. Up close, her beauty was even more apparent; he would have been able count her eyelashes if he had so wished. Instead, he stepped towards her, as she him, and embraced her, wrapping his strong arms around her, feeling her warmth. He tried to pour everything he could through his touch, all his love, his passion, his need. It was all he could do not to cry out, express the tidal waves of emotion crashing over his body. He could feel her delicate fingers caress his muscular back even through his leather armour, her touch burning into his skin. He forgot all about his aching muscles, his bruised skin and his tired eyes, for her presence was a balm to all ailments. His heart sang a song of love and joy, brimming with pure adoration for the elf he clung to, there in that secluded clearing in the wilderness of Skyrim.


	2. Chapter 2

She'd arrived in Skyrim in the clutches of the Imperials. Woken up in a wagon with three others, on the way to the block. She'd thought that her final moments would be spent as a prisoner, nothing more than another name on another list. As the Nord, Ralof, had said, the Empire loves their damn lists. But then the dragon had attacked. Raized Helgen to the ground, or so she'd heard. She was long gone by then, on the way to Riverwood. From there, she'd travelled to Whiterun, and joined the ranks of the Companions. It was the first time she'd felt as though she belonged, as though she was wanted. But these were just memories, flitting around the deep recesses of her mind in the small hours of the morning. For the last few moons she'd been wandering, not sure of her next move. Right now, she was holed up in a tavern in Riften, away from anyone she knew. She wanted something new, something exciting, something that would get the fire burning in her heart and the blood coursing through her veins once more. She pondered this, mulling it over as she had tended to do recently. Pushing her long hair out of her face, she swung her legs over the edge of her cot and sat up, resting her head in her hands. Each morning was the same; she'd wake up with the image of his face ingrained in her mind. Grabbing her armour from the chair she'd flung it over the previous night, she slipped it on and buckled it securly around her. It hugged her figure, and it was comfortably worn to fit her exactly. Shouldering her quiver and storing her fine elven bow in its usual place on her back, she left her room. The tavern was nearly empty, except for a few of its regulars. The barman nodded in her direction as she passed, leaving the door swinging behind her as she left.

The air outside was frigid, and she pulled her collar tighter to stop the wind from biting at her neck. Heading down through the market, she immediately noticed a man who seemed to have his eyes fixed on her. She was on her guard, making plans to slip away, when the man started towards her.

"Hey, lass, you interested in making some extra coin?" His accent gave him away as Nord, and she put him in his mid-thirties. Tall, brunette, and a sword at his side, she reckoned she could send an arrow through his heart before he'd even touched the pommel of his weapon. Regardless of the threat of danger, she was a little curious.

"I might be. Why do you ask?" She questioned the man.

"All in good time, little elf. See, wealth is my business. And I have an opportunity for you to help me out and make some septims. All I need you to do is steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stall, then plant it on Brand-Shei. You in?"

"Mind telling me why you want me to do this?"

"All I'm going to say is that I have a client who wants Brand-Shei put out of business. Permanently."

"Alright. I'm in. I could do with some excitement."

"I thought you would be, lass. Meet me in two minutes, give me time to get my distraction in order. Good luck."

Nodding, she turned away. This was what she had been hoping for, something interesting to do, something different. Leaning against a nearby wall, she studied the people milling about in front of her. Minutes past, and soon enough, the man with the accent passed by, giving her a surreptitious nod. Inclining her own head in return, she crept after him, keeping to the shadows.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could interest you in something I've recently aquired... Falmer blood elixir!"

"Brynjolf, what nonsense are you talking this time?" An Argonian called out, leaving his stall.

"No nonsense, Madesi. This is one hundred percent legitimate."

Creeping silently down to Madesi's stall as the crowd gathered around Brynjolf, she fished a lockpick out from her pocket. Crouching out of sight, she picked the lock on the sliding doors, then broke into the strongbox. Picking up the ring, she bounced it on her palm a few times. Silently closing the box and shutting the door, she slowly straightened up. Everyone was still clustered around Brynjolf; he clearly was an adept salesman. Or a skilled thief, depending on your point of view. Smirking slightly, she skirted around the edge of the market wall. The dark elf, Brand-Shei, was sat with his back to a pile of boxes. This was almost too easy; his pockets were practically gaping open. Ducking behind the crates, she slipped a hand through the gap and placed the ring carefully in his right pocket. Straightening up, she walked around and took her place in the crowd. Soon enough, Brynjolf finished up, sending everyone on their way.

"I knew I could count on you, lass. Here's some coin for your trouble. There's more where that came from, if I can tempt you?"

"It seems that you've got me hooked, good sir. I could get used to this."

"Good, good. Meet me in the Ratway, under the city. See you soon, lass." He smiled fleetingly at her, then turned and strode though the throngs of people, vanishing into the distance.

She smiled in return. She relished a challenge, something to sink her teeth into, and this was exactly that thing. Entering the tavern, she sat in her usual seat, rasing her hand to the bartender. He nodded, pouring a measure of wine into a goblet and bringing it to her. Taking the cup, she took a sip, and at the same time pulled out a book. She was in no rush, no hurry to run after Brynjolf like a feeble wench longing for their lover to notice them. She had no desire to appear desperate or weak to him. She'd spent her time in Skyrim developing a hard exterior, impenetrable to things that would weaken a normal individual. Things like feelings, emotions. But then she'd met him. And immediately she'd felt herself weaken, his piercing blue gaze boreing through her skin and coming to rest in her heart. That moment had weakened her beyond anything she'd ever anticipated. Sighing, she shook her head to clear her mind, dispel the fragmented memories of his face.

Hours passed, and still she sat there. Draining the last drop of wine in her goblet, she dug out a couple of septims from her coin purse and dropped them onto the surface of the table. It was about time she followed Brynjolf up on his offer. Leaving the tavern, she walked down the stairs to the lower levels of the city. The entrance to the Ratway was easy enough to locate, and before she crossed the threshold, she notched an arrow, just to be safe. The tunnel she emerged in was dark, dank and dirty. Grime covered the stone walls, and a draft blew in from the crack in the door. The place stank, a heavy stench that filled her nose and made her eyes water. Moving slowly forward, she listened, trying to determine if there was anything of anyone in the sewers with her. Not hearing anything, she cast a spell to detect any life forms. It told her there was someone, round the next corner. Silently, she edged towards the wall, and keeping close, she raised her bow. Drawing the string to its full capacity, she turned the corner. The low-life had his back to her, and she buried an arrow in his neck before he even realised she was there. Bending over his lifeless corpse, she reached out and unhooked his coin purse from his belt. Might as well take it; he would have no use of it wherever he was now. Four more fell to her arrows, each one as quickly and quietly as the next, until she reached another door. Pushing it open, she emerged in a large room that looked like a tavern. The few people sitting at the tables stopped their chatter, turning to look at her as she crossed the room, heading for Brynjolf. He was sat at the bar, talking to another man.

"Well, colour me impressed, lass," he said, turning to face her. "I didn't expect to be seeing you, if I'm honest."

"Getting here was easy," she replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Reliable and headstrong, eh? You're turning out to be quite the catch," he said, his tone low and soft. She looked away, his gaze making her uncomfortable. It was too soon, he was too fresh in her memory for her to think about things like that. He seemed to note her discomfort, nodding slightly before speaking.

"Since you're here, how about you handle some deadbeats for me, lass? They owe us some coin and they're decided not to pay. We need to send a message that we will not be ignored. Can you do that?"

"I can handle anything you throw at me," she answered.


	3. Chapter 3

The night came quickly over Riften, the clear sky revealing a host of stars that shone like a Spriggan's eyes. Having returned to Brynjolf, he'd seemed genuinely impressed as she'd handed over the three hundred septims of debt. Impressed enough to extend her a formal invitation to join his Thieves Guild. He'd also gifted her some new armour, and she was pleased with it; the supple leather was exactly suited to her. The enchantments it carried were exceedingly useful too. Back at her room in the tavern, she stripped down to her underwear, pulling on the Guild armour. Tightening the buckles, she looked down at her leather-clad body, feeling how the material was moulded to her body. Satisfied, she disrobed and hung the armour over the chair. Climbing into her cot, she pulled the thin blanket over her and turned onto her side. Closing her tired eyes, she closed her hand around the hilt of the elven dagger she slept with. The feel of the cold metal under her fingers comforted her, made her feel safe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept soundly. Except that night she'd spent with him, that had certainly made her feel secure. His arms around her, enveloping her in love and warmth. Her hand on his chest, lightly tracing over his skin. The memory of it was painful and she tried desperately to think about something else, something menial. Anything to distract herself from the deep ache she felt in her soul.

Her sleep that night was fitful, even more than usual. She awoke many times, panting as though she'd run many leagues, jerking upright and pointing her dagger at the foe that was not there. It happened again, in the early hours of the morning, and she cried out in frustration. Flinging the blanket from the bed, she jumped up and dressed quickly, grabbing her bow and swinging her arrows over her shoulder. Pulling the door open, she swept her eyes around the room one last time before closing the door behind her. The bartender was behind the bar, as usual, and she nodded goodbye at him as she passed. He'd been helpful, not asked any invasive questions that she would have had to avoid. It was warm, for a change, and the streets were empty. Reaching the stables, she paid the man who'd looked after her horse for the eight days she'd been in Riften. Stroking the horse's velvet nose, she jumped up onto his back and galloped off. She had no idea of where she was going, but she couldn't stay there anymore. As she rode, the wind playing with her hair, she thought about her life so far. She'd been so young, so naive, when she'd walked into Jorrvaskr looking to join the Companions. It was almost laughable, really, how foolish she must have appeared to all of them. She remembered them all. How long ago she'd met them all, how long ago she'd left them. Skjor, who had seemed so strong, Aela, the proud huntress, Kodlak, the wisest of them all. And, of course, the twins. Ysgramor's strength and smarts. As soon as she met Farkas, she had known that she would never be the same. She didn't know what it was, why he had this power over her. All she could do was surrender to it, give herself fully to him. He, too, had felt the call, felt the undeniable lure of her wonder. They had both kept it hidden, told no one of their desires. Until one night, camped out somewhere near a Silver Hand fort. They'd just been talking, laid under the stars, the fire glowing softly. A warm light cast long shadows over the floor. She remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. She'd resisted the urge to touch him all that time, until that one night she'd broken. Reached out, laying a hand on his bare chest. His eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes shooting her a questioning look. She responded by leaning over, her lips inches from his, holding her body still with bated breath. The blue eyes found the amber, their gazes locked together. She felt his hand touch her back, the other her neck. He leaned in, and their lips met. The lingering kiss, the feel of his lips on hers, his hand in her hair, her legs around his body. Things that had stayed with her all this time. Things that still stoked the fire in her heart, still made her pulse quicken and her pupils dilate. They'd slept together that night, joined their bodies in a wonderful harmony of love. That fateful night. That was the night she was eternally bound.


	4. Chapter 4

She rode hard until she was sore and her horse was exhausted. Dismounting, she looked around and checked her map. From what she could tell, she'd ridden in the direction of Whiterun and was less than a league from the city. She laughed mirthlessly; such irony. She'd ridden to get away and instead had ended up in the one place where she was known to everyone. Her wounds were too raw to return just yet. She could not face them all, not after what had happened. It was her fault; that she knew well. She still had nightmares; images of that day still plagued her when the moon was high in the sky. She was but eighteen winters old, and she was still a whelp to the Companians. She and Aela were returning from hunting the Silver Hand that had killed Skjor. They were expected back in Whiterun that evening. She hadn't been concentrating, and that was when she'd stumbled. A rock under her foot had given way, even under her light step, and she'd fallen over the side of the mountain they were climbing. Hanging on with one hand, legs dangling, she'd called out to Aela. The huntress had come running, bow drawn, when she saw her companion hanging over the side. Reaching down, she'd grabbed the hand of the elf, trying to haul her to safety. That's when she fell. Slipped, arms flailing, falling into empty space, her scream resonating. Until she hit the rocks below. Then there was silence, deathly silence, like the whole of Tamriel ceased to exist. She'd managed to pull herself up onto the face of the rocks, and with a cold sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach, she looked down. There was Aela, fifty feet below, splayed out on the rocks. She was dead, that much was clear, and the scream that tore from the young elf's lips was heart-wrenching. How would she tell them? How could she ever return to Jorrvaskr? She sat on that rock for hours, watching the sky change colour as the sun sank below the horizon, eyes staring unfocused into the distance. It was then her sensitive ears heard Farkas calling out for her. They were late arriving, and he hadn't been able to wait anymore. He had a terrible feeling that harm had come to her, so despite his brother's warnings, he went looking. He caught the scent of blood on the wind, the metallic tang arousing the wolf in him; he tried to suppress the urge, the call of the blood. Shaking his head, he broke into a run, hoping desperately that he would not find what he feared he would.

Gathering some firewood, she dumped it in the centre of the small clearing in the rocks. Murmuring a spell, she felt the familiar tingle as the flames harmlessly enveloped her hand and spread to the wood. Rubbing her hands together, she tried to harness some warmth as the sun dipped below the horizon. The moons were close that night, looming over her as she rested her head on the soft earth. The thin hide that acted like a blanket gave little heat to combat the cold air that rushed in on the wind from the north. She fell asleep counting the stars, hand clutching the hilt of the dagger she was so used to sleeping with. She was always on her guard, always looking over her shoulder, so much so she'd forgotten what it was like to be free to cast her mind forward. She ran not from any physical being, but from her memories. She couldn't bear to go back to her old life, face the humiliation and shame she knew would come if she were ever to return. She was a coward; a weak fool who did only what was easiest. Funny, really, that she was fearless when faced with an opponent in battle, but ran like a scared child from her feelings. It frustrated her that her time in the Companions was over before she'd had time to feel a part of the family. She'd joined with the ambition of earning respect from the other members and had instead managed to cause the death of one of its leaders. So she ran.


	5. Chapter 5

Soon enough the sun's first light seeped through the thin layer of clouds above her, rousing her from her light slumber. She sat up slowly, stretching her muscles to relieve some of the tension that had built up over night. The wind blew gently through her hair as she shoved her meagre belongings in her pack and swept away the remnants of the fire. By the time she swung herself onto her horse, there was no trace of her having ever been in that small clearing. Her skill in being untraceable did not come easily; it was the result of years of practice as she made the long and perilous journey from Valenwood to Skyrim. There was nothing for her back home, nothing left for her to go back to. Her family had owned a small farm on the outskirts of the province, raising a small herd of cattle. It was a simple life, one that saw her childhood full of laughter. She and her younger sister amused themselves by climbing trees and swimming in small lakes and streams, carefree and happy. One night, when she was barely passed her sixteenth birthday, she was woken by the sound of screaming, instantly recognisable as her sister's. The sound tore through the air, chilling her to the core, her blood running cold as she ran to her wardrobe and retrieved the ornate bow her father had crafted for her. She'd not fired at anything more than targets before now, although she knew with grim certainty that she could easily kill a living being. The screaming stopped abruptly as she swung the small quiver of arrows she owned over her shoulder, and the silence that followed made her uneasy. Creeping silently to the door, she peered through the crack in the worn wood. Her keen ears picked up the sound of heavy footsteps that were certainly not made by an elf.

"Find anything, Drennen?" The voice was rough and coarse, and from the sound of it, the owner was a mere stone's throw from the elf crouched by her door.

"Just a few bags of coin and some jewellery, nothing big." The other voice sounded younger and the tone was much kinder. The other man cursed.

"This is all we need. We were supposed to make a lot tonight, not be left empty handed."

Still crouching by her door, all she could do was listen as the footsteps of the older man grew louder as he drew closer to her door. Thoughts raced through her head, flitting around like angered wasps. Was her family safe? Were they injured? What would happen to her? The footsteps came to a stop a few feet from where she stood, and she hardly dared breath. From the other side of the wood came the sharp scrape of a sword being drawn from its sheath, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up in anticipation of a fight.

She'd fought hard, after the man broke through her door, but her lithe frame was no match for the huge Nord's strength. She'd got him in the thigh with an arrow, but the nearly-blunt training projectiles barely caused any damage. With two swings of his heavy sword, he'd had her pressed against the back wall of her room, his hand closing around her delicate neck. She bucked against his rough grasp, but to no avail. He'd held her there until his accomplice had hurried to him with a short length of rope and he tightly bound her hands behind her back. Picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a mere sack of grain, he'd carried her kicking and screaming through the house, past her dead family until finally depositing her into a wagon waiting outside. She'd laid in the dark, sobbing for her murdered kin, for what seemed like hours until the canvas was pulled back and the light of day streamed in.

"Here she is, Henrik. Do you see why I kept her alive now?" The Nord with the coarse voice stood at the opening, leering at her with a hunger in his eyes. She pushed herself as far away from him as possible, trying to keep out of his reach. He had a mass of matted greying hair, and he looked as though he hadn't shaved in a few days. Everything about him revolted her, from his slack jaw to his unkempt appearance.

"She is a pretty one; I'll give that to you, Jesper. She'll sell for quite a large amount, once she's been taught obedience."

Arms reached in to the wagon and grabbed her ankles, hauling her towards the outside. She was brought out into the open, fighting all the way, but no amount of twisting and pulling was enough to break the grip Jesper had on her.

"She's small," Henrik commented, grabbing her jaw and turning it to the side. "But she seems in good health, and everybody loves a young elf maiden."

She jerked her head away, snapping at his hand with her teeth.

"Oh! She's a feisty one!" said Henrik. "I'll be sure to beat that out of you."

He struck her on the side of the head, the metal gauntlet her wore splitting the skin. Warm blood ran down the side of her face, dropping of her angular chin onto the ground below.

Laughing, the two grown men shoved her in the direction of Drennen, the younger man from the house, with instructions for him to clean her up and get her to look presentable. He took hold of her firmly, but his grip was much more gentle than the other men's had been. Leading her into a nearby tent, he secured the rope that bound her hands to a wooden stake in the centre of the space. Fetching a bowl of water and a cloth, he knelt and began to tend her wound.

"Get off me," she snarled, twisting her head out of his reach.

"So you do have a voice, I see," Drennen said, raising his eyebrows. "You've cut quite deep, so are you going to be sensible and let me see to it?"

"I'd rather bleed to death." She spat, refusing to look at him.

"Now, now, attitude. You'll get nowhere with that kind of behaviour. Make it easy on yourself; it's in your best interests."

"What do you care? Set me free, that's what's in my best interests right now."

"I can't do that, so why don't you stop being obstructive and let me help you."

Sighing, but knowing he was right, she turned to look at him. He nodded, and began to clean her cut. He was rather handsome; his eyes ice blue and his hair the typical Nordic blonde. He was young, looking as though he had not seen more than nineteen winters, and she noticed the calm that settled over his features as he became absorbed in the task before him.


	6. Chapter 6

She tried to get comfortable against the solid pole behind her, but no matter how much she wriggled, it pressed painfully into the bones of her spine. The laceration on her head prickled uncomfortably and she was developing a pounding headache. From what she could tell, it was some time in the early hours of the morning, and all activity outside the tent had ceased. The soft crackling of a fire reached her ears and she longed to warm herself next to it. She was not afraid; the prospect of pain did not scare her. Her emotions had been forced into the empty cavities of her mind where she did not dare to visit, behind a wall of anger that nothing could break through. She comforted herself with thoughts of her captors lying dead, her standing over them with blood dripping from the arrows she wrenched out of their corpses. She drifted into a fitful sleep, waking from time to time in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as the images of the previous day faded from her mind.

"Get up, little elf, you must hurry!" The voice was low and urgent in her ear, waking her and putting her on her guard immediately. Hands fumbled behind her, loosing the rope that bound her wrists to the stake. She shook her head, scrambling to her feet, trying to make sense of what was happening. Drennen stood before her, his brow furrowed and his eyes alert. He held a finger to his lips.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, eyes darting around the tent, searching for the exit.

"I'm trying to help you," Drennen whispered back. "We have to be quick, come on. They've all got back from the local tavern completely drunk, so you have to leave now."

"Why? How do I know this isn't a trick or a trap?"

"You don't. But I think you know this is the best you've got."

She nodded, realising this was indeed her only option. Following Drennen out of the tent, she kept as silent as she could. Three small tents surrounded the dying fire, and the sun's weak early morning rays softly illuminated the clearing. Keeping as silent as she could, she and Drennen crept through the camp. Reaching the other side, they broke into a run and were soon a few hundred meters away. Ducking behind a large tree, Drennen dropped to one knee and pulled a small dagger from his boot.

"Here you go. This is all I could get you without raising suspicion. Oh, and this," he said, reaching into his pocket and holding out a small hunk of bread and some cheese. She smiled without thinking, and almost held her hand out to accept the food. Then she stopped herself, why was she smiling? This boy had kidnapped her, taken her from her home and slaughtered her family like cattle. How could she accept food from him? Drennen noticed her hesitation.

"It's okay. They're fine; I haven't done anything to them."

"No, thank you. I don't need your charity." She snapped back.

"Right. But this isn't charity. This is just food. And you need it. Stop being so proud," he said, taking hold of her wrist and pressing the food into her hand.

His remark made her smile again, though she dipped her head so her hair covered her face and he could not see. Depositing the bread and cheese in her pocket, she slipped the dagger into her own boot. Drennen smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He nodded at her.

"Good. Now go, I have to get back. You need to run, get back home."

"No," she said, her tone low. "I can't. You of all people should know that." Her eyes met his and he turned away, not able to face her stare.

"I know that sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. I know. But I am sorry," he said, looking intently anywhere but her. "I was like you, once. I had a family, and I had a life. Then I got mixed up with a group of Nords during my travels through Skyrim. I ended up with this group of idiots a few years ago and since them I've been stuck in the same cycle of stealing and murdering." He paused and drew breath, his eyes shimmering with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. He shook his head. "Just go. You'll be okay, you're tough. You'll make it. Good luck, little elf." He turned to leave.

"Wait," she said softly, catching hold of his arm. His revelation touched something inside of her. What, she didn't know, but she knew he wasn't lying. "Come with me. Leave them. You're a good man, Drennen, and there's more to you than this. I think you know that."

"No, I can't. Don't even try. I'm not going anywhere, I can't."

"Why not? What's to stop you? Come with me, we'll get far away from those god-forsaken milk-drinkers and the rest is up to us. You'll be free to do what you want to do and nothing else."

"I wish I could. I wish it was that simple."

"Fine. Fare-well, Drennen. Thank you."

She turned away from him and began walking, melting into the shadows cast by the trees. Sadness settled over her, and she struggled to understand why. Surely it was a good thing he was not accompanying her? Still, she felt as though it would have been better if her were with her. She knew it was rash, but she saw something in him that she recognized in herself and it was comforting to her. She wandered, thinking about where she was going and how she would survive on her own.

"Wait! Little elf, wait!" Drennen's voice came out of nowhere, startling her. She looked around, searching for the source of the shout. She knew she'd imagined it, but a sliver of hope sparked inside of her.

"Wait, please!" This time she was sure, sure she heard his voice calling out for her. She turned around, almost tripping over in her haste to find him. She ran in the direction of his call, all the while wishing she was right and suddenly, there he was, running towards her.

"Thank the eight!" Drennen gasped, "You're still here." He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"I knew you'd see sense," she replied. "So, where are we going?"


	7. Chapter 7

Riding solidly the entire day had become somewhat of a ritual for her. She covered many leagues, galloping in no particular direction. Riding to get away. It was all she was good for, really. The air grew more frigid as she rode further north, snow falling from the sky and landing gently on the ground, coating it in a blanket of white crystal. She reined her horse in and jumped off, retrieving her map from her pack. Checking it, she noted her location as some five miles from the city of Winterhold. Interesting. She had yet to visit the city of magic and illusion, and she had heard tales of the infamous collage and its mysterious history. She had a limited knowledge of the arcane arts, and she had a great interest in expanding her collection of spells. After picketing her horse at the stables, she pushed open the heavy wooden gates and entered the city. Keeping her hood up and her head down, she strode down the snow carpeted streets. The college loomed above, dominating the skyline. Few people passed her, and none paid her any heed. Ducking into the tavern, she brushed off the snow that clung to her. The tavern was silent, few people sat at separate tables staring into the bottom of their tankards. Walking to the bar, she could feel eyes trained on the back of her head. Requesting a goblet of wine, she chose a seat at the back of the tavern, facing into the room. Sipping her wine, she caught sight of someone in the opposite corner of the room over the rim of her cup. She judged the figure to be female, and Altmer, judging by her sharp features and cheekbones set high on her thin face. She caught her eye a few times, and becoming uncomfortable, she rose and left. She did not like the idea of being noticed, because being noticed tended to mean being remembered. She made her way towards the college, aware of the Altmer also having left the tavern. She quickened her pace, striding faster across the bridge that lead to the college.

"You can't come across, so don't even try." Her path was blocked by a tall high elf with a sing-song voice.

"Why not? I want to learn," she replied.

"What do you have to offer? We need people who are magically competent, not apprentices who think they can waltz in and become a master without time and effort," the elf responded.

"Would you be more willing to let the Dragonborn enter?"

"Oh, my. It's you? How interesting. I've never experienced the power of the Thu'um before, only read about it. Would you perhaps demonstrate?"

Gathering her breath and focusing her mind, she summoned the power of the dragon blood that flowed through her veins and Shouted with all her might into the air. Before the resonating Shout had faded away, the skies blackened and the heavens opened, rain pouring and lightening thundering down from the clouds. The novelty of her ability never quite wore off, and even she stood in awe of the power she possessed.

"That was... incredible! I never expected that. You may enter; you're very welcome any time. And thank you, Dovahkiin."

She nodded to the elf and carried on her way. She emerged into a large courtyard, covered sparsely in snowberry plants and snow. Slipping quietly through the enormous double doors, she found herself in a large hall in which four figures stood. The oldest of the group was clearly the authority, and he seemed to be tutoring the other three. The lecturer looked up and caught sight of her in the shadows.

"Welcome, welcome! We were just beginning. Please, stay and listen." He said, spreading his arms out wide.

She nodded shyly, sidling over to the rest of the group, all of whom had turned around to peer at her. A Dunmer, a Khajiit and a Nord; she was mildly surprised to not see an Altmer.

"Master Tolfdir, why do you not teach us the practical skills? I want to use magic, not just listen to it being talked about." The Dunmer said, her voice tinged with annoyance.

"Patience, Brelyna. You will learn, in time. Maybe we should ask our guest what she thinks?" The class turned to look at her.

"Any kind of magic should be treated with respect. But it must also be practised in order to be used correctly."

"Wise words from one so young," he replied, dipping his head. "If you would be so kind as to assist me in a demonstration, I think we could begin. We'll be practising the spell we use to block other's offensive spells."

Walking in the direction he was pointing, she revised the words she would need for the spell. When Tolfdir threw a fireball at her, she easily blocked it and it exploded into smoke.

"Very good, very good indeed!" Tolfdir congratulated her, smiling proudly. She nodded in thanks, and with that, the lesson was over.


	8. Chapter 8

She spent much of the day in the college, browsing the enormous library and learning more about Winterhold's history. She met a variety of interesting people during her wanderings, and by the time she left, dusk was beginning to fall. Walking back to the tavern, she suddenly became aware of light footsteps behind her. Hand on her concealed blade so as not to make it obvious, she rounded the corner and pressed her back up against the building. Hidden from view, she waited silently, until the footsteps were a few paces away. When the figure turned the corner, she whipped her dagger up to the follower's throat.

"What do you want with me?" She questioned the hooded figure angrily, her voice low. The person simply laughed.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, lifting her head up and revealing herself to be the Altmer from the tavern. She looked down; the Altmer had her own dagger pressed into her stomach.

"Ah, I see." They both lowered their blades slowly, eyes fixed on each other's faces. The Altmer looked surprisingly calm, but the vein pulsing in her neck gave her away as being alert, prepared for anything.

"We've been looking for you, Bosmer. How difficult you are to find." The Altmer's voice was relaxed, her tone light, yet she did not trust her sincerity.

"You're lucky to fine me, Altmer. Not many do."

The high elf inclined her head gracefully, acknowledging the assertion of skill.

"Enough with the pleasantries. I've heard rumours of your supposed dragon blood. Word has travelled around, whispers of your power have reached my ears and I have an obligation to investigate such information. So, I ask, are you Dovahkiin?"

"I don't know what that means," she replied, feigning ignorance.

"I think you do. Don't try my patience."

Heart beating faster, she tried to control her breathing and relax. She had no interest in letting the Altmer sense her fear.

"What's it to you who the Dragonborn is? Who are you?"

"That's none of your concern. Unless that was an admission, of course."

"Do you expect me to trust you? You hold a dagger to my stomach and I'm meant to do exactly as you say?"

"Granted, these are not the circumstances I foresaw. I had no intention of cornering you in this way, but you left me no choice. Would you listen to me if I approached you in the street as any common beggar would?"

"No. I suppose I wouldn't." She tried to consider what the stranger would gain by her admitting her dragon blood. She could not see a reason why she shouldn't, but she could not help but question the Altmer's motive.

"Meet with me, and we can begin afresh. I shall explain myself, I swear it."

After a brief pause, she agreed to meet her the next morning. She was intrigued to hear more about this Stanger who seemed desperate to find the Dovahkiin.

That night was difficult to sleep. She tried everything, but soon ended up getting angry and impatient. Flinging the thin blanket from her body, she got up and grabbed her bow. Slinging her quiver over her shoulder, she crept out from her room, locking the door behind her. It was early morning, judging by the people in the tavern. The old farmer frequented the bar at this time every day without fail. A fire crackled pleasantly in the middle of the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The air was crisp and cold, and it immediately made her feel more refreshed as she stepped outside. Her armour offered her little cover from the bitter wind that blew in, but regardless of this, she could not deny the beauty of the cold. Frosted spider webs spanned the distance between the wood of the shop opposite, and the soft crunch of the snow beneath her light step was strangely satisfying. She had hours until her meet with the Altmer, so she made her way towards the market. A few people were setting up their stalls for the day ahead, and from the corner of her vision, she caught sight of a young man hauling three large sacks up the road. She was immediately struck by his resemblance to Drennen, the young Nord she'd met all those years ago. Granted, this boy was a few years older, but his outward appearance was so similar to Drennen that her eyes were almost tricked into seeing him.

He passed her as she stood watching him, nodding in her direction. The last time she had seen Drennen had been many moons ago, and it pained her to think of that moment.

They'd travelled for days before reaching any sort of civilization. The first camp they stumbled upon was a band of travelling Khajiit caravans, and they were glad of the chance to purchase supplies. She was particularly content with the purchase of a crude Orcish bow, even if Drennen was reluctant to spend almost all of his coin. They moved on, reaching the border of Cyrodiil after a few days march. During their time together, they discussed many things. They relaxed into each other's company more with each step, and with it came a strange sort of trust. She listened to him speak of his childhood, his homeland, and she often caught herself staring intently at him as he spoke animatedly about another memory. It was alien to her, the affection she began to develop for Drennen. She had no experience of anything similar, and the feeling frightened her. She knew it made her vulnerable, and she resented that fact. She tried to push it out of her mind, keep her thoughts to herself, but it was getting increasingly more difficult as each day passed.

It was early evening, and the air was heavy with the dying sun's light. They were but a few leagues from the Imperial City, and were hoping to make it before the night fell. Her feet were aching in their stiff leather boots, purchased recently as her old ones had worn through. They had spent much of the day engaged in idle conversation, and she could tell that Drennen was tired. He became much more reserved and brusque when he had not slept well, and the night before she had awoken to find him wide awake, staring blankly into the fire. He was keeping something back, that she knew, and it bothered her that he was not happy.

"We'll be reaching the city soon," she said, trying to break the silence that had settled over them.

"Aye," Drennen replied. His tone was flat and he seemed distant. She was hesitant to bring up his attitude but she was not sure she could keep her desire to know what was troubling him to herself for much longer.

"We've come far," she remarked, inwardly cursing at how awkward she felt. Drennen simply nodded, barely paying her any heed. She grew angry, almost indignant at his dismissal.

"What is your problem?!" She exploded, jumping in front of him and blocking his path. He looked at her, a bemused expression spread over his features.

"What? There's no problem. What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean! You've been surly the last few days and I know you, Drennen. Something's not right."

"You're wrong. Everything's fine, I'm fine."

She sighed, looking him in the eye. He broke their gaze, casting his eyes at the ground.

"I'm not trying to get you to tell me anything you don't want to. I just need to know you're okay," she said softly.

Drennen looked up, and she was startled to see tears shimmering in his eyes. She'd never seen him cry, and it saddened her deeply.

"What's the matter?" She questioned, unsure of what she should do.

"I... I can't go back there," Drennen said, his voice barely audible. The look of fear in his eyes was like nothing she had ever seen before, so intense it made her feel anxious.

"What? Where?"

"I thought I could, I thought I could do it. But I was wrong. I can't."

"Slow down, okay? It's fine, just please, tell me what is going on." Leading him to a clearing in the rocks, she cast a spell and a fire sprung up from the ground. They sat next to it, and the warmth spread out towards them.

Drennen took a deep breath, blinking rapidly, ridding them of the tears that filled them.

"It was a long time ago. Back when I was first travelling alone, I arrived in the Imperial City. I was inexperienced and naive, and ended up getting mixed up with some really terrible people. A group of criminals, thieves and murderers alike. We were carrying out some kind of heist, and I thought I'd be able to cross them and get away with it. Needless to say, I failed, and they were out to kill me. I escaped the city, stowing in a wagon that was leaving for Valenwood. I've never been back. I thought I'd be able to face it, but they're the type that will not rest until I'm dead. If they recognise me... I don't know what will happen."

She leant forward, reaching out and taking his hand.

"We don't have to go, you know. We can go round or go back or something."

"We can't, and you know it. We need supplies; we barely made it here with that stuff we got from those Khajiit."

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. She could see no other option, for indeed, they would surely starve if they did not get more food for the remainder of the journey. There was no assurance of running into traders on the road, and the village nearest to the city was a full day's walk.

"We should wait until morning. It'll be busiest then, everyone will be at the market. We'll have the best chance of passing through unseen."

Drennen nodded, falling silent. Their eyes met, and she realised that she hadn't let go of his hand. He leaned forward and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch as gentle as a soft summer's breeze. She froze, unsure of what to do. A thrill of anticipation made its way down her spine, adrenalin coursing through her veins. She became painfully aware of his other hand resting on her thigh, and she could feel her cheeks redden under his gaze. He leaned closer, his breath hot on her neck and his heart pounding so fast she could almost hear it. The thin linen shirt he was wearing gaped open at the front, and she could not help but admire his strong chest. Lifting a hand, she ran her fingers lightly along one of his collar bones that protruded from his body. She heard his breath catch in his throat, and she was comforted by his apparent nervousness. He reached up, laying a hand on her cheek. Acting on impulse, she leant forward and their lips met in a gentle kiss. His arms snaked around her, pulling her in closer to him.


	9. Chapter 9

They ended up staying the night in that small clearing in the rocks. She awoke in the later hours of the morning, Drennen's arms still wrapped around her. Pushing herself upright, she stretched and rose, readying her pack for the day ahead.

"Morning, little elf," Drennen said, yawning and sitting up.

"Morning," she smiled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Ready," he replied. "Let's do it."

After finishing the last of the meagre supplies they had left, they gathered their belongings and started towards the city. It soon loomed above them, the tall, striking constructions casting huge shadows across the ground. The gates were guarded by Imperial soldiers, resplendent in their distinctive red and gold uniforms. Passing them made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end; she could feel their gaze boring into the back of her head. Emerging into the small, crowded streets of the city, she was struck by the sheer volume of people that surrounded her. Crowds bustled in every direction; stray dogs ran down alleys and beggars called out from the side of the road. Making their way towards the main square, she could sense Drennen's apprehension. She glanced at him; his head was dipped and his hood pulled up, concealing his face. The market was in full swing, traders bartering aggressively with customers, their shouts filling the vicinity. She sighed inwardly, relieved that the clamour was sufficiently loud and busy to ensure they would not be noticed. The stall directly opposite them was stocked with game that looked as though it had been caught freshly that morning, and it was here that she intended to go first. Making sure to keep one hand on her near-empty coin purse, she skirted the edge of the square, keeping her back to the walls of the buildings that made up the circumference. The stall was presided over by a sly-looking Dunmer, clad in fine clothing that looked out of place considering his location in what appeared to be the centre of the poor quarter of the city. He saw her advancing, nodding politely to her.

"Good morning, Bosmer. How may I be of service to you?" His voice was deceptively soft, and he seemed incredibly well-spoken for a street vendor.

"I'd like to purchase some meat. Deer, if possible, but rabbit will do." She was keen to get away as soon as she could, for something about this elf caused her to feel uneasy.

"I have some fine venison here that may take your fancy?" He questioned, indicating a large hunk of meat hanging from the stall. She looked at it; it was indeed a fine cut.

"How much?" She knew there was not much left in her purse, and was hoping not to spend any more than 20 septims on food.

"It's 40 septims for this cut," replied the Dunmer. "And that's the lowest I will accept." She frowned, disappointed, knowing there was no point in contesting the price with him.

"Fine. I'll just take some rabbit then." He nodded curtly, cutting her a piece and wrapping it. Depositing it into her pack, she paid him the 10 septims he asked for and left, hurrying back to where she had left Drennen.

Reaching the spot she'd last seen him, she looked around, not able to spy him at first. She looked again, and still could not pick out his distinctive blonde hair amongst the mass of dark-haired Imperials. An ominous sense of dread settled over her, although she did not know why. People were milling all around her, but none bore the face her eyes were desperately searching for. Whirling round, she grabbed the shirt of a passer-by.

"Where did he go? The boy, the Nord boy? He was here, where is he?" She barked angrily, eyes narrowed. The man she'd grabbed looked terrified; shrinking away from her, he gestured to a nearby alley. Letting the man go, she ran quietly and quickly in the direction he pointed. She paused before she turned down the alley, back to the wall. Notching an arrow, she drew back her bow string in one smooth movement. Rounding the corner swiftly, she aimed the arrow in front of her, keeping low. It was empty, so she sneaked forward. Crouching down, she studied the sandy dirt that covered the ground. Passing her fingers through it, she noted the sporadic disturbances where the dirt appeared to have been kicked up. Heart beating fast, her blood ran cold at the thought of what the dirt implied had happened. Cursing, she got to her feet and warily continued down the alley. She had not gone more than halfway when she noticed the sun glinting off something in the dirt. Picking it up from where it lay, she was horrified to recognise it as Drennen's ring, the one he wore safely around his neck on some cord. When she had questioned him about it, he'd revealed that it had been his mother's, the only possession he still owned of hers. It was obvious that he would not part with it by choice. She had known deep down that it would be risky to have Drennen accompany her into the city, but it was too late for that. Attempting to keep her thoughts from straying to panic, she emerged into another street on the other side of the passage. This street was just as crowded as the other had been, busy with the bustle of morning barter. She swore out loud angrily, causing heads to turn in her direction. Ducking her face to the ground, she pulled up the hood of her cloak and strode down the street, trying to formulate some kind of plan. She'd never been on her own before, and although she could quite easily fend for herself, it was still a daunting prospect. She also could not help but ponder Drennen's fate, and every time she did, a chasm seemed to open in her stomach and fear erupted into life. Continuing along the street, she passed several Imperials whose gazes lingered on her as she went by. Granted, a young Bosmer was certainly out of place in the Imperial City. The nearest tavern took the best part of an hour for her to find, and she entered gladly, thankful for the chance for some respite. It was nearly empty; most were out working or buying supplies at this time. Retreating to the corner, she sat with her back to the wall, bow on her lap. Trying to stay calm, she considered her options. The city was extremely large, so searching for Drennen would be impossible. He'd mentioned previously the people he was afraid of, and it seemed clear to her that to find him, she must first find them.


	10. Chapter 10

These memories were still fresh, ingrained and refusing to dissipate. She knew it was unwise to think of him; it unfocused her mind and caused her such anguish. Instead, she forced her thoughts in the direction of her fast-approaching meeting with the high elf she'd met the previous day. Her curiosity was undeniable, and she could not help but feel somewhat excited. The prospect of adventure hung in the air; she relished the feeling. Heading towards the woods that surrounded Winterhold, she quickened her pace. The Altmer had requested they meet alone, away from prying eyes. She'd given directions to a clearing some two leagues into the forest, and the young elf was eager to reach her destination. Arriving with a few minutes to spare, she swiftly scaled a nearby oak tree and waited perched among its sturdy branches. From her elevated position, she could not see much but the dense forest, extending out in every direction. The sun had risen high by this point, casting dappled shadows over the ground where the light passed through the leaves. A sense of calm settled over her as she leaned back against the trunk behind her. She'd always felt her happiest when amongst nature; her childhood had been spent in the forests that surrounded her home. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves and she sighed, the wind carrying away her tension. Her sensitive ears caught the sound of light footsteps below; peering down she could see the cape-clad figure of the Altmer. Silently dropping to the ground behind the high elf from the branches of the oak, she cleared her throat. The elf before her spun round, hand on the decorative hilt of the sword swinging from her slender hips. When she saw the Bosmer, she visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping and her hand releasing the weapon.

"So. You came." The Altmer spoke first. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I stay true to my word, high elf. Now it's your turn."

"Indeed. I want to apologise for my previous treatment of you; it was important that you were the true Dragonborn. My name is Niranye. I represent a group of Altmer that do not owe the Thalmor any allegiance. We exist to aid people such as yourself that can help to rid the world of the blight that is the Thalmor."

"Why me? What have I got to do with anything?"

"I came to warn you. The Thalmor have become very interested in the Dragonborn, and interested is dangerous. If I can find you, they can too. You do not want to be found by them." Niranye's tone was low and serious, and the Bosmer found herself instinctively wanting to believe her. She nodded, frowning slightly. She had never had dealings with the Thalmor personally, but she was no fan of their oppression of Skyrim.

"What should I do? As you said, if you can find me, they can. Where am I safe?"

"Go to the Greybeards in High Hrothgar. They will show you the way."

She spent most of her evening wondering around the forest, thinking about the information the Altmer had given her. She could not conceive of why the Thalmor would be interested in finding her. The thoughts occupied her mind as she walked back to the tavern. She wondered where she would go next. Niranye had mentioned the Greybeards, so it followed that they were who she should seek out. Mind made up, she gathered up her belongings and threw them into her pack. One last glance around the room to check that she had left nothing behind and she was gone. The night was clear and the stars shone brightly as she followed the road out of Winterhold. She could see from her map that High Hrothgar was far south of the city, maybe five day's ride. Shoving her map back in her pocket, she retrieved her horse from where it was picketed and mounted it. Galloping away, the wind rushing through her long hair, her thoughts turned to Drennen, as they often did when she had nothing to distract herself with. Snippets of their previous conversations echoed through her mind, flashes of his smiling face appearing in her mind's eye. She could almost hear his laughter, taste his lips, feel his touch on her skin. She shivered, the ghost of his presence wrapping her in its cold embrace.


End file.
